These Fallen Walls
by Honesty
Summary: A chance encounter after Voldemort's first fall. UST (slightly)


TITLE: These Fallen Walls  
AUTHOR: Honesty  
RATING: PG-13  
CATEGORY: UST  
DISCLAIMER: I ain't Rowlings  
FEEDBACK: Well, what do you think. I live for it.  
SUMMARY: Voldemort's first fall. A chance encounter.  
A/N: My first slashy HP fanfic, & my first under the name Honesty. The rest of my Snapefic can be found under http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=20632  
Actually it's not that slashy. But it'd like to be.  
  
  
The house was in ruins. Like so many other things.  
  
It was easy enough work for Hagrid to push aside the debris of what had once been the Potters' house - easy enough, physically, perhaps, had he not been crying so badly he could hardly see. what he was doing, tripping over rubble and plaster, and the broken dark wooden furniture that had once furnished James' and Lily's home. After all their precautions-  
  
He had found James's body lying in the front doorway, his wand, snapped in two, still in his lifeless hand. His face was half-charred away, and the half that remained was covered with angry red-white welts. He'd been so young-  
  
It had halted Hagrid for a long moment. To move James's body had seemed wrong; but not so wrong as just stepping over it, as if it was just another piece of broken rubbish. It had only been Dumbledore's voice in his head, counselling urgency, that forced him into action. He'd closed his eyes and stepped over, absently leaning one shoulder against the sagging ceiling to support it. Dumbledore would see he had a good burial.  
  
He had pushed on, almost oblivious to the creaking, swaying house around him, unsteady as a ship in a gale, pushing open the jammed doors, looking for any sign that Lily and Harry by some miracle might have...  
  
And then - dear God! - Lily. Did those brutes have no decency? Was there no limits to what they would do? An' her with a baby just a year old, and another on the way. She lay spreadeagled on the dirty tiled floor, her hair a vivid flame-red even covered by dust, her pale skin pure and unmarked, and Hagrid could not help but kneel, and brush a strand of the vivid hair out of her face.  
  
"Muh-"  
  
Lost as he almost was in his anguish, Hagrid nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden syllable. He found himself staring incredulously at the tiny boy reaching out towards his mother's face in unconscious mimicry of Hagrid's own action. A child, no more than a year or two old, dressed in bright red and yellow robes, with unfocused green eyes, and a livid red scar on the left side of his forehead stared at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
For the space of five heartbeats, Hagrid stared just as uncomprehendingly back. "Poor little mite," he muttered, grimacing as a fresh onslaught of tears began to run down his ccheeks  
  
He had to pull himself together, if he was to get them out of here before the walls fell. He wiped his eyes quickly on his dusty sleeve, and reached over to pick Harry up, cradling him carefully against his body with all the gentleness he possessed, pulling the folds of his moleskin coat gently around the little boy so that none of his tears fell on him.  
  
It was then that he saw the dark figure watching him from the shadows.  
  
He straightened up, still kneeling, recognising from the dark cowl and mask the shape of a Death Eater. Not threatening, not attacking, not escaping. Just watching him.  
  
All this way, and they were going to kill him after all. He wasn't fast enough to get out in time; and he could hardly defend himself, holding a baby. He wrapped his arms a little more firmly around Harry, shielding the child as far as he could with his thick arms, and waited for the Death Eater to make his move.  
  
"S'pose yer think yer proud of yerself," he said, half-growling, half-sobbing, holding Harry close protectively, torn between the desire to choke the life out of the bastard, and the need not to upset the little boy. "Yer may think yer big an' powerful, 'cos yer scare folks. Yer scum - that's all you are - killin' people who're better'n you'll ever be."   
  
His voice had risen without it meaning to, and he dropped it quickly. If it weren't for Harry, he'd have brought the bastard down; but he wasn't going to risk anything. The poor kid had been through enough already - Hagrid wasn't about to make things worse for him.  
  
Still the Death Eater did not move.  
  
"As it is, yer lucky. I'm in a hurry." He climbed to his feet, not taking his eyes off the Death Eater. "I'll see you rot in hell."  
  
The Death Eater did nothing. Hagrid turned on his heel and stormed away, casually shouldering a particularly large joist out of his way as he did so.   
  
He did not hear the Death Eater say dully to himself, "Perhaps I'm already there."  
  
* * *  
  
It was generally considered foolish to attempt Apparition when in a highly emotional state, and Severus Snape should have considered himself lucky that he landed nowhere worse than the footpath of a Muggle railway bridge, high over a slow-moving, muddy river somewhere in the North of England. He leant against the railings, looking down into the dark, viscous waters, patterned as they were by eddying pollutants and the occasional dead branch.  
  
So ... that was it. He pulled off the black mask and stuffed it into his pocket.  
  
It was over, Voldemort was gone (no thanks to him), and the Potters, whom he'd fought so hard to save, were dead. And really, for a double agent without a cause, what was there left? Only to hand himself tidily in to the authorities, and receive the fate that Dumbledore's mercy had only deferred for him.  
  
It would be Azkaban, a life's sentence. He'd achieved nothing that could negate that.  
  
Scum. Hagrid had said it, and really there was nothing that could be said to contradict it. Such a *common* word. Peremptory, brutal and expressive, and so, so damnably accurate. Scum. He could feel himself starting to shiver as Hagrid's angry eyes still bored into him.  
  
He had ... picked up ... that child, and held him, and - and wept for him, glaring at Snape as though the force of his gaze alone could keep harm away. He had been so - so fearless, s-so tender that-  
  
It was cold here; the wind was gusting fiercely up the river from the none-too-distant sea, making no obstacle of the thin black robes he had wrapped around him. Snape felt a sudden pang of unreasoning jealousy of that child, that the giant had held so gently - so close, and with such tenderness.  
  
Would you weep for me, something in him asked, if you knew my tale? But he had learned too much now, to permit such self-dramatisation.   
  
Stupid, Snape. Stupid. Tears are for Hufflepuffs - and you wouldn't want them, even if they were yours.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing on the Ministry Building in London, and Apparated, this time with slightly more care. The receptionist gave him only a cursory glance until he spoke.  
  
"I-" His voice sounded cracked and raw, as though it was many long years since he had last spoken aloud. "I am a Death Eater. I wish to give myself up."  
  
  
  
END 


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